Phantom Number
by CrazyCoffeeKat
Summary: "His name is Daniel Fenton. Apparently, he comes from a town known as Amnity Park." "So what's the problem?" "I've searched through their entire database, but so far I've found absolutely nothing. It's as if this 'Amnity Park' doesn't exist..."
1. Prologue

**_This plunnie is rabid and absolutely refuses to stop gnawing at my brain cells. Plus, my sister is also rabid, so I wrote this to ease her POI withdrawals. (/O_o)/_**

_**I'll probably butcher the characters... Meh. I doubt many people from the DP fandom are familiar with Person of Interest (and vice-versa). But just in case any of you are familiar with both shows and I am, in fact, butchering the characters then please TELL ME! D:**_

**_That is all._**

**Disclaimer: Me no own Jack-squat**.

* * *

_Run. Keep running._

Danny's heart hammered in his chest and his breath came out in harsh, ragged pants. His body ached for rest, even as he pushed his legs to move faster.

_Don't stop. Don't look back._

He was injured and exhausted, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't. He'd made it this far, and he wasn't about to go down without a fight.

His feet slammed against the concrete, and Danny focused on the rhythm.

The lights were bright and disorienting and, even at this hour, the streets were noisy and crowded. Danny was nearly run over by a taxi cab as he rounded a corner.

He dodged traffic and skirted through crowds and around passersby. Save for the occasional glance, people went about their business, paying no mind to the dark-haired teenager that seemed to have fallen from out of the sky.

Hoping to lose the GiW agents in the chaos, he headed for a quieter part of the city, and ducked into a nearby alleyway.

Danny staggered into the dimly lit alley, his breathing harsh and labored. His knees gave out, and he slid down against the wall he'd been leaning on for support. He lay sprawled out on the ground, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach. Letting his head fall back against the wall he closed his eyes, and focused on breathing.

_In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. In-..._

His breath caught in his throat as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Thinking quickly, Danny shuffled backwards and hid behind a dumpster. He drew his knees in towards his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.

This was it, he realized. He couldn't run anymore, and there was nowhere left for him to hide.

Danny clenched his eyes shut, desperately hoping and praying that the GiW's ghost scanners wouldn't pick up on his ecto-signature. Summoning up the last bit of his energy, he turned invisible.

Not even a moment later, one of the GiW agents he'd been running from was in the alleyway with him. Danny flinched as he heard the agent cock his ecto-pistol. He listened closely, hearing the sound of each footstep as the agent moved further and further into the alley. He heard the steady beeping of the ghost scanner, and even the sound of the agent's breath as the agent literally stepped _right in front of him._

Danny froze; he didn't dare breathe.

For several agonizingly long moments, the air was tense and thick and so terrifyingly _still._

And then:

"Agent O to Agent K, we've lost him..."

Danny sagged in relief, listening closely as the footsteps retreated.

They were gone. The Guys in White were gone.

Danny opened his eyes, scarcely believing what had just happened. He let out a hoarse laugh. He was happy right now. Giddy, even.

And then the adrenaline began to wear off, and everything he'd been ignoring before seemed to hit him all at once. His body shook, and he gasped involuntarily as a sharp, burning pain flared up in his abdomen. He took a few deep breaths, but much to his dismay the feeling only intensified. Danny frowned, and then remembered a very important piece of information:

He was bleeding.

Suddenly, he felt so very, very tired.

Danny listed weakly and fell to the side, vaguely registering another set of footsteps before he succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

John Reese had gone out for a walk. After he had finished with the machine's last number, he'd decided he needed to get some fresh air.

Not that he expected there to be much fresh air in the middle of New York City... but it was the concept that mattered, right?

Fresh air or not, it was a pleasant night to be out, and the ex-CIA agent found himself enjoying his walk. As he rounded the corner, Reese spotted a tall, muscular man who appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion with his earpiece.

Reese gave him a curious glance, taking note of the man's very obvious badge (government, maybe...?) and the white suit that just screamed 'subtle'. Undetected, Reese moved closer to the white-suited man until he was within hearing distance. As the man walked by, Reese caught bits of the conversation, such as: "... target ran into the alleyway. I was unable to locate him." And, "... no, no, no, **_NO_**! Report back to headquarters _immediately_!"

Ah, so he _was_ with the government. So this is what they hired, nowadays...

Reese was amused.

And also maybe a little bit interested.

Sparing a covert look around (and seeing that the strange "agent" was nowhere to be seen), Reese walked into the alley. He moved through slowly, almost carefully; his steps echoing in the empty alleyway. He scanned the area, and suddenly, something caught his eye.

Peering out from behind a dumpster was a single red sneaker.

The thing was old and worn, and looked very much like something that you'd find next to a dumpster. There wasn't anything remarkable or unusual about it, really...

Except for the fact that this particular sneaker was still attached to its owner.

And that its owner was a child.

And that this child wasn't moving.

Reese knelt down next to the kid, and at the same time, his phone vibrated. Frowning, he brought the phone to his ear.

"Mr. Reese," came his boss's voice, "we've got another number."

Reese gazed solemnly at the boy's still form.

"It's a little late, Harold..."

* * *

**_Like it? Hate it? Should I write more? Let me know, please! :3_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited. You guys rock! :D_**

**_ALSO: This is set somewhere in mid season 2 of POI, and as if P-P never happened in the DP universe. _**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POI or DP... ****_((cries)) _**

* * *

Reese gazed solemnly at the boy's still form.

"It's a little late, Harold..."

The man on the other end of the line went silent.

"That... that can't be," Finch stuttered, disbelief coloring his voice. "We just received his number, John. I'll... I'm sending you a picture."

Reese's phone buzzed, signaling Finch's message. Reese gazed at the picture on the screen, and then back at the boy.

It was immediately clear that this boy was the one in the picture. However, unlike in the picture, the boy's dark hair was damp with sweat, and clung to his face. His skin was pale and covered in bruises, and he looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in days. A white T-shirt that was just as old and torn up as his sneakers hung loosely around his scrawny frame, and he looked so very _young_.

John let out a tired breath.

"It's him."

_"What..?"_

"The boy. The kid in the picture." Reese replied. "It's him."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure?"

Reese's eyes briefly flicked over to the boy.

"Pretty sure."

"Is he..." Finch trailed off, not wanting to voice what they both already feared.

Reese didn't answer. The boy was pale and he wasn't moving. He didn't appear to be breathing, either.

"...John?" Finch asked hesitantly.

Reese shook his head, his face hard.

"I don't know."

Carefully, he edged himself into the tiny space between the dumpster and the wall, and leaned over the boy. Reese pressed his fingers to the kid's neck, searching for a pulse. Then he held his breath, and waited.

After a few moments, he felt faint thump against his fingers. _A pulse. _It was weak and far too slow for Reese's liking, but it was there.

He breathed a silent sigh of relief. The boy was only unconscious. The kid was, however, bleeding quite profusely from a wound in his stomach, and it was clear that he needed help.

"Finch, the kid is alive, but he's in bad shape." Reese informed the other man. "I'm bringing him back to the Library."

"Mr. Reese, I don't really think-"

"We don't have a choice, Finch." Reese cut him off abruptly. "Whoever did this could still be looking for him," he said. "We leave the kid at a hospital, and he'll be a sitting duck."

"Alright. Bring him here," Finch replied breathlessly. "I'll have something ready."

Reese quickly set to action, removing his jacket and placing it over the boy's small frame. He scooped the boy up gently, and headed back to the library.

With any luck, they would be able to fix him up there without any serious problems.

* * *

The trip back to the library had been uneventful. The boy hadn't moved once during that entire time, and if Reese hadn't felt the weak rise and fall of the boy's chest, he would've thought the kid was dead.

Upon seeing the boy's condition, Finch had been distraught. True to his word, he had found them a doctor, and as soon as Reese had laid the boy down the doctor had set to work.

All they had to do now was wait. And that, by far, was the worst part.

Reese knew that Finch had brought in a good doctor, and that the kid was in capable hands. He also knew that both he and Finch would do whatever it took to fix this. They always did.

Somehow, none of that seemed to lessen the worry that he and Finch both felt.

Of course, they both had very different ways of dealing with stress.

Finch sat as his desk, fretting anxiously with his computer. Bear, sensing the distress of his two owners, whined and panted.

And Reese... well, Reese paced. And, when it was feasible, he shot things. But since Finch didn't like it when he shot things in the library (and since the library was severely lacking in things to shoot), he settled on the first.

Trying to keep his mind off of their latest number, Reese focused instead on the sound of the keyboard as Finch typed.

_Click, click, click-clack, click-click, click-clack..._

"I don't understand how anyone could do that to a child," Finch spoke up suddenly, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Reese didn't say anything. They were both very protective of children, and when something like this happened...

The ex-CIA agent scowled, pacing faster.

_Clack, click-click, clack, click, click-clack..._

"... not only that, but they just _left_ him there!" Finch added, his voice filled with frustration and disbelief.

At these words, Reese's head snapped up.

"Finch," he started slowly, "I don't think anybody left him there..."

Finch stopped his frantic typing, and considered this for a moment.

"Someone was after him," the smaller man supplied, his eyes widening in realization.

Reese nodded.

"But why?"

Reese's piercing gaze met Finch's own.

"That's what we're going to find out."

* * *

**_*...cue POI theme song* :D_**

**_Review, pretty please! Let me know what you think! :3_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**_A big huge _****THANK YOU****_ to all of you wonderful people who've favorited/followed/reviewed this story. I've been really busy with college, which is why it'll probably take a while for me post updates... but don't worry, I'm not planning on abandoning this! As my apology for taking so long to post this chapter, I've made it much longer than the first two. (/O_o)/ Hope you enjoy!_**

**Disclaimer: I don't own DP or POI.**

* * *

The doctor had left about an hour ago, looking exhausted. Whether it was from the lack of sleep or the stress of the situation, Reese wasn't sure.

He could imagine that stitching the boy up hadn't been an easy task, what with the extent of his injuries. Regardless, the young doctor had done the best he could've outside of a hospital, with Finch providing the necessary medical supplies and equipment.

Before leaving, the doctor had given them pain medicine for the boy, and antibiotics to ward off infection. He had also given them specific instructions.

For one, they were to make sure that the boy rested and didn't over exert himself. They would also have to make sure that the kid took his medication. Most importantly, they would need to watch him carefully so as to make sure he wasn't getting any worse.

With these things in mind, the two vigilantes had decided to stay at the library for the night.

Although clearly tired, Finch continued with trying to find out more about their number. He sat at his computer, scouring every internet source he could find for information on the dark-haired teen.

Bear, of course, sat obediently at his feet, staring curiously at their mysterious new guest.

As for Reese, the ex-CIA operative was on doctor duty. He periodically checked on the injured boy, who was now lying on an old sofa and was nearly buried beneath a small pile of soft, warm blankets.

The three kept a silent vigil, save for the sound of Finch's typing on the keyboard. However, without any warning, the steady _click-clacking_ came to a halt. Finch's eyes narrowed, and he gazed at the computer.

"_Well_..." he murmured. "This doesn't make any sense."

Reese's head swiveled over to the spectacled man.

"Find anything interesting, Harold?" Reese asked lightly.

Finch gave him a flat look.

"His name is Daniel Fenton," Finch replied, glancing towards the unconscious boy. "He's fourteen years old, goes by 'Danny'. Apparently, he comes from a town known as Amnity Park."

"So what's the problem?" Reese asked.

"I've searched through every major database, but so far I've found absolutely nothing." Finch answered. "It's as if this 'Amnity Park' doesn't exist..."

The ex-operative frowned, coming over for a closer look.

"The man you saw," Finch spoke, "you said he was working with the government."

"That's what I thought," Reese replied cooly.

Finch looked deeply perturbed.

"If the government is involved, we could be dealing with a major cover up." Finch said, his voice tight. "Whatever they're hiding, they appear to be dead-set on it that way..." he added, turning stiffly, "_hidden_."

Reese's expression grew dark.

"What does it have to do with Danny?" He spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "Why would they go after a kid?"

Finch glanced over towards where the boy now lay.

"I'll bet he knows something."

* * *

It was nearly half an hour later (around two in the morning) when Reese checked up again on their number. Of course, the boy hadn't stirred, and showed no sign of waking anytime soon.

As Reese made his way closer, he noticed the boy- _Danny_, he reminded himself- shiver slightly. He frowned.

Watching as another shudder wracked through Danny's body, Reese moved to adjust the blankets around the boy's small form. As his hand brushed Danny's shoulder, however, the ex-operative stiffened.

Startled by the amount of heat radiating from the injured teen, Reese drew his hand away. Moving quickly, he pulled the blankets off and pressed the back of his hand to Danny's forehead.

Reese swore beneath his breath when his suspicion was confirmed.

The kid was burning up.

* * *

The boy looked as bad as he had first time Reese had found him. _No_... Reese thought, the kid looked _worse_.The ex-operative stood near the boy, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

Reese looked up as Finch limped over. The man was slightly breathless.

"I can't get a hold of Dr. Brandt," he said.

"_Finch_..."

"He's not answering his phone, John, and I can't seem to trace it..." Finch spoke, nearly hysterical.

Reese turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

Danny didn't have time for this, or for them to find another doctor. It wouldn't be safe for them to leave him at a hospital, either. If the government was after the kid, then there wasn't anywhere- save for here- that he would be safe.

Both men were silent. After all they had done for the boy, there was a good chance that he wouldn't make it. That he would die, right here, in their own library.

Reese couldn't let that happen.

He might not be a doctor, but he knew enough to get them by; at least for now. Determined, the ex-operative immediately set into action. He reached into one of the shelves, grabbing one of the boxes they'd filled with medical supplies.

"We need to get his temperature down," Reese explained, handing it to Finch. He grabbed a few extra cold packs and whatever medicine he could find, and turning towards the feverish boy, Reese let out a heavy breath.

This was going to be a long night...

* * *

Danny's fever spiked at around three in the morning. They had been unable to get it down at first, and for a while they'd feared they would lose the young teen.

Both Reese and Finch had spent the night caring for Danny. It had been a long, difficult night, and they both were exhausted.

Seeing as they were of no use to anyone if they starved, Reese had gone out to get some food. The ex-operative was now heading back into the library, carrying tea, a box of doughnuts, and one particularly large cup of coffee.

He headed into the stairway, but stopped short when he heard a muffled cry. Frowning, Reese set the food down and listened closely.

_"Please, I-..." _

That was Finch's voice. It was followed by a crash, and the sound of something- _many_ somethings- falling. Without a second thought, Reese darted up the stairs. Pulling his gun, he opened the door...

...and was met with the sight of a very disheveled-looking Finch.

The smaller man gaped up at him, eyeing the gun. Reese stared back, equally surprised by state that his friend was in.

Finch's glasses were askew, and his hair was sticking up at seemingly impossible angles. His tie was somehow missing, and there was a strange green stain on his shirt.

Reese cautiously peered over the smaller man's shoulder, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared into the room.

The place was a mess. Well... more so than usual. There were papers tossed about, and books scattered on the floor. Bear, of course, didn't seem to mind this. Reese winced; the dog sat gnawing happily on one of Finch's rare first-edition books. In the center of all this was, surprisingly enough, a certain dark-haired teen.

_Well then..._

Reese raised an eyebrow, admittedly impressed.

Tucking his gun away he stepped inside, and headed towards their troublesome new guest. However, as he got closer look, Reese paused. The kid had backed up into the furthest corner of the room, and was breathing raggedly as he watched Reese with wide, fearful eyes. He curled in on himself, wrapping one arm protectively around his injured stomach.

Reese frowned slightly. Trying to look less intimidating (which probably only made him look even more intimidating, seeing as he was an ex-_CIA agent_), he took a step forward. However, Danny gasped sharply, and scooted back further.

Immediately, Reese moved a few steps back, allowing the boy some space. This elicited a noise of protest from Finch, and the smaller man quickly scurried out from behind Reese.

Finch made a move towards the boy, but was stopped by steady hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Harold..." Reese said, speaking in a low, soft voice.

"He needs to calm down or he'll make himself worse!" Finch exclaimed.

"Just give him some room." Reese insisted.

Finch huffed, but made no move to go further.

"You seem tired, Finch." Reese said. "It was a long night. You should get some rest."

"I can't just leave," Finch replied flatly. "Someone has to stay here with him."

"I'll stay," Reese said.

Finch glanced up at him uncertainly.

"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea, John..."

Reese's mouth quirked up slightly.

"Go, Harold. We'll be fine."

Finch looked over at the boy and let out a weary sigh. Too tired to argue, he gathered a few of his things and limped out of the library.

Once Finch had gone, Reese carefully approached the frightened boy. He moved towards him slowly, and squatted down so that the two were at eye level.

Danny flinched, but his eyes never once left the door. He was trembling slightly, and Reese couldn't help but be reminded of a trapped animal.

Reese spoke gently, but firmly.

"I need you to calm down, Danny."

At the sound of his name, the teen's head snapped up, glassy blue eyes meeting Reese's own.

"It's ok," Reese said. "You're safe here."

The two stayed like that for a while, with Reese continuing to speak softly to the boy.

The teen watched him carefully, though it was obviously getting harder and harder for Danny to keep his eyes open. It was almost imperceptible at first, but slowly he began to deflate, whatever little energy he had now seeping out.

Danny listed to the side, but a pair of strong arms caught him, carefully easing him back down. He turned his head weakly when he felt those same arms lift him up gently, and set him back down on the couch. The teen sighed softly as the blankets were once more tucked around him, his breath evening out and his eyelids drooping.

Perhaps it was that, for some strange reason, this man felt vaguely familiar. Or perhaps it was that maybe, in Danny's fever-induced haze, this man with his dark hair and blue eyes somehow reminded the boy of his father.

Whatever the reason, Danny felt that he could trust this man. As his mind drifted off into peaceful oblivion, Danny realized that for the first time in months, he felt _safe._

* * *

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